Apollo 14 'juice(s) it' before heading moonward

Editor's note: This is part one of a two-part story. The Craft: Antares was good to go.

"The space vehicle for the Apollo 14 mission was determined ready for launch" on Jan. 29, 1971, said the 1978 NASA publication "The Apollo Spacecraft: A Chronology." Two days later, at 4:03 p.m., Alan Shepard, Ed Mitchell and Stuart Roosa lifted off.

They had endured "a 40-minute hold" eight "minutes before scheduled launch time because of unsatisfactory weather conditions, the first such delay in the Apollo program," the publication stated.

Three-and-a-half hours later, according to "Moon Shot" (Turner/1994), the crew found themselves "in deep trouble" when the docking system appeared to be failing. Kitty Hawk, the command service module, could not connect with the lunar module Antares. The latching hooks wouldn't snap into place.

Engineers at Mission Control pored over the dilemma, and then pointed out: "'If a piece of debris, or even dirt, lodged in this mechanism É then it's possible it prevents the latches from depressing.'"

Their recommendation? Come "in faster and harder."

"Extending forward from the top of Kitty Hawk was an arrow-like probe which Roosa would connect with a cone-shaped drogue receptacle on Antares's nose," "Moon Shot" said. "The hook system assured a firm connection between the two ships and a tunnel through which" Shepard and Antares pilot Ed Mitchell "could float from one craft to the other." After arriving at the moon, the two ships would then separate for the lunar descent.

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Later, they would have to re-dock to go home to Earth.

Even though Roosa had "fired his small control thrusters with the touch of a surgeon," "Moon Shot" documented, "the docking probe rebound(ed)."

The second attempt failed, too, as did the next three.

"Roosa had been maneuvering Kitty Hawk so many times that he was eating into the limited fuel reserves of the spacecraft. Mission Control passed the word," "Moon Shot" said. "Stu could make one, perhaps two more attempts, and then the docking maneuver must be abandoned."

On the heels of the near-fatal Apollo 13, a consecutive failed lunar landing would be a scientific and public relations disaster.

The Congress might even shut down NASA's funding for the Apollo program.

Based on the engineers' recommendation, Shepard ordered Roosa to "juice it!" At impact, "both ships rocked" and "the capture light came on."

The docking "on the sixth attempt" had taken place nearly two hours late, said "The Apollo Spacecraft: A Chronology." "A crew inspection of the probe and docking mechanism was televised during the coast toward the moon. The crew and group personnel were unable to determine why (Kitty Hawk and Antares) had failed to dock properly."

The good news, however, was that the crew was finally bound for the moon. The Commander: A U.S. Naval Academy graduate, Alan Shepard's fellow astronauts called him "Professor Al" because of his maddening habit of taking over press conferences with pedantic answers to reporters' questions," said "Men From Earth" (Bantam/1989).

When NASA informed the Mercury 7, as the original astronauts were known, that Alan Shepard would be the first American in space, "the others surrounded him, offered congratulations and then quietly left the room," according to "Moon Shot." "They would be astonished later to realize that nobody had even suggested a round of drinks to toast Alan."

His flight occurred on May 5, 1961. Repeated delays forced Shepard to wait "so long that the need to urinate was becoming urgent," said "Moon Shot." Dr. Wernher von Braun refused to extract Shepard or allow him to urinate in the suit; that would "short-circuit (his) medical leads." So, Shepard suggested turning off the power.

In his reclined position atop the Redstone booster, the "liquid pooled in the small of his back. His heavy undergarment soaked up the urine, and with 100 percent oxygen flowing through the suit, he was soon dry."

At liftoff, 45 million Americans watched him rocket into space aboard Freedom 7 not to mention a handful of mysterious Russian fisherman off Florida's coast. NASA feared "the Russians were going to try to initiate our command destruct signal and blow us out of the sky," the Gannett News Service reported in the May 5, 1996, El Paso Times.

In an abort, codes "would trigger the rocket's self-destruct system if it nose-dived toward beach houses and a growing motel row 12 miles south of the Cocoa Beach launch pad."

The Soviet Union, the story said, may have been "trying to sabotage the mission" from "trawlers with dish-shaped antennas," thus the flight's codes were kept "very, very top secret."

Shepard, during his 15-minute and 20-second flight, reached 116 miles in altitude. He landed 302 miles off the coast, just 9.2 miles from the recovery ship Lake Champlain.

"Come after me," he radioed helicopter crews.

Once on Lake Champlain's deck, he proclaimed "It's a beautiful day. Boy, what a ride."

The ship's crew, however, was prohibited from congratulating him. Wire stories stated "crewmen É were told not to speak to the astronaut. Doctors and psychologists want him to tell his story without having it colored by ideas conveyed to him on his return."

Post-flight, "the Soviet press agency Tass sneered that the Freedom 7 flight 'cannot be compared with the flight of the Soviet space ship Vostok,'" said Shepard's obituary at nytimes.com. Twenty-three days earlier, the first man in space, Cosmonaut Yuri Gagarin had, actually orbited Earth.

Michael Shinabery is an education specialist and humanities scholar with the New Mexico Museum of Space History. Email him at michael.shinabery@state.nm.us.